


Atlas

by moony_julymoonlight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Mental Health Issues, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:20:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23971459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moony_julymoonlight/pseuds/moony_julymoonlight
Summary: Some things would not go away; just like the scars on their bodies, there were scars in their minds. They may fade or they may stay there forever but they also would heal. Harry & Hermione. Complete.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 21
Kudos: 179





	Atlas

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and claim no profit from this work. Credit where credit is due to JK Rowling.

After the battle, time seemed to fly. At one moment, Hermione Granger had her arms around Harry along with Ron as they sobbed,  _ it was over, it was over, it was all over  _ and in the next, she was leading efforts to rebuild the castle. Parts of the castle would never repair due to the excess of the Dark Magic used to wreck the castle’s own magic and wards. 

When she had announced her decision to return to complete her seventh year, Ron had been bemused while Harry just shrugged. 

“You don’t have to go back, Hermione,” Ron had said when they were settled on the couch, her feet propped in his lap, a book in hers. Harry was sitting on the floor, his back against the couch as he stared at the fireplace. “None of us needs to,” Ron continued, his face pinched in concern. “NEWT scores won’t be required for our year. You can officially start whatever you want.”

“It’s not the NEWTs, Ron. It just doesn’t feel right. I need to go back,” she had said quietly, gazing at the scars on her hands. She never had scars before and now she could not find a single part of her body that did not bear the signs of the long-hard battle they had fought in. 

Hermione watched the flames of fire reflected in Harry’s glasses and his expression darkened. She was not sure whether he agreed with her decision to return but he had made it adamant that he would not rest until every dark wizard threat was eliminated. 

Ignoring the worry she felt as she watched them discuss their training as Aurors, Hermione leaned into Ron and he absent-mindedly wrapped an arm around her. They were fine, they were safe, she reminded herself. But even as she thought that she couldn't help but focus on the many groans and creaks of 12 Grimmauld Place to discern whether there were any sounds of cautious and muffled footsteps, slowly making their way to them…

Hermione became aware of Harry looking at her, a frown on his face. She watched him make a connection between her wide eyes and thoughts, shaking his head slightly. 

_ We are OK, _ he mouthed at her. She nodded at him but watched as he started listening intently too, straining to catch any evidence of an intrusion by one of their enemies. His entire appearance suggested exhaustion and fatigue, his eyes lined with dark circles. 

She wondered if he lied awake at night too for the same reasons as she did. Every night, as Ron snored beside her, Hermione lay with her wand gripped tightly between her hands as she strained to hear any suspicious sounds to determine whether they were under attack. Even though she renewed the wards every night and they would surely alert her at the slightest hint of something, she still felt compelled to take watch. 

A few weeks later, she found herself at Hogwarts. She did not know why she thought it would be as if nothing had ever happened. Hogwarts had lost the promise of the sanctuary it once provided.

Walking the halls, Hermione held her wand as she warily scanned her surroundings for any signs of danger. With a start, she’d lower her wand. Signs of danger? There was no Death Eater or snatcher present in the castle, there was no sign of intrusion or evil. Still, suspicion lingered and she would hurry into her dormitory. 

She could not look at the Great Hall without thinking of the dead and injured and echoes of loud sobs. She often got so immersed in the memory that she saw the room in twos: the present and her memory. Both haunting images of the ordeal she had been through. 

When she walked the grounds to visit Hagrid, Hermione usually jogged, her feet tripping as her heart pounded with her wand at the ready.  _ Faster, faster, they’re going to get you, _ her mind would chant before she’d abruptly stopped, looking back over her shoulder. No one. Nothing.

Hermione was not the only one walking around treating her surroundings with doubt and fear. The returning eighth years and several years below her functioned the same way. A loud sound would cause half the classroom, including Hermione, to draw their wands, some students would duck under the tables while others turned white with tears streaming down their face. The threat would turn out to be nonexistent: an echo of an innocent spell, a poor prank by one of the first years or the sounds of the castles’ shifting staircases. Even Peeves did not prank anymore once a faux magic bomb by him had caused more than half the inhabitants to flee the castle, screaming, tripping and stumbling as they fired curses behind their backs.

The infirmary was never more crowded than it was; beds were frequently occupied. McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey had done their best to extend the rooms for maximum occupancy but it still never seemed enough. The outside of the infirmary was crowded at all times but especially before night: there was a waitlist that spanned more than twelve inches for Dreamless Sleep Potion, and Calming Draughts as Pomfrey, Hermione and other older students proficient enough to brew them, tried to meet the demand. 

It was only the second and third years who did not act as their environment was out to get them. They seemed quite adjusted and passed on tips to others regarding management of reactions. With a dawning sense of horror, Hermione realised it was because that was the only way they remembered the school and it was  _ normal  _ to them. 

Only older students remembered the beacon of happiness, hope and comfort that Hogwarts used to offer. 

A permanent mind Healer was stationed at Hogwarts after the Peeves incident. His time slots were so booked that follow-up appointments and sessions could only be held once a month per student. Hermione had written several letters listing out the various reasons why they required more than one and gathered signatures from fellow students for her petition but it was declined on each occasion. The wizarding world simply did not have enough resources to spare. It wasn’t also equipped to deal with such consequences: the wizarding world had neither the terms, understanding or facilities to deal with the effects everyone was suddenly experiencing.

The sight of the thestrals also rooted her to the spot. Although she cared deeply for all magical beings, they unnerved her. Whenever she encountered one, her mind would start sifting through the images of all those they had lost which was the only reason she could suddenly see them. When she sat at the benches to watch Ginny play Quidditch, she could not help but feel naked at the open exposure. She scanned the skies for dementors, her wand held steadily as she tried to prepare herself for conjuring a Patronus at any given moment. 

She watched as the students at Hogwarts became haunted. By memories, by nightmares, by the war. Many a time, a student had to be escorted to the infirmary as they succumbed to sobs in the middle of classes or meals. When Draco Malfoy, shunned and ostracised by many, was one of the students to do so, Hermione felt hopeless. 

With that incident, Hermione initiated a student-led support group of sorts. The first group meeting contained more than fifty participants with only a few choosing to speak while the remaining listened. From then on, the numbers only seemed to increase until Hermione decided to host several one-hour group meetings almost daily so that the crowd would not be too overwhelming for anyone (and her). 

Hermione spent her Fridays reading the letters she received from Harry and Ron who had started their intensive Auror training. She read through Ron’s rambles of food, humour and his training while Harry’s precise letters consisted of quiet observations, wry accounts of his fans and tricks that he thought she’d find useful for Defense Against the Dark Arts.

She hesitated, wondering whether to paint a picture of the Hogwarts they knew or the tragedy it was now. She thought of Harry and his love for the school, his only true home. It would break him. With that, Hermione carefully wrote her response in her neatest script: 

_ Dear Harry, _

_ I am doing well. Without you and Ron to distract me, I am able to devote myself to studies as much as ever. I think if Madam Pince did not remember to routinely check for me in the library, I would be locked there daily.  _

_ Hogwarts is the same. There are classes, quidditch matches and several events of mischief. Filch has had to create a separate checklist to confiscate Weasley's products. I think he secretly uses them himself - in his spare time.  _

_ I find your latest training interesting. Combining Arithmancy with Defense Against the Dark Arts to predict and construct spells as they are shot is a fascinating idea. I know it is only a small bit of your Auror studies but Harry, I do think this would be an interesting opportunity to delve deeper into magic than ever before. Imagine the insights! I have already checked out one book from the library on the subject - the collection seems to be limited here.  _

Feeling slightly guilty, she signed it before sending it off with a school barn. As she stood, staring at the soaring bird with others hooting around her, she wondered when things would feel normal. 

* * *

After her midterm examinations which were so easy that Hermione was convinced the professors were going lenient on them, she was at the Burrow for Christma holidays. She finally felt relaxed enough to spend time with other people without glancing over her shoulder. But the Burrow had its own struggles: the ghost presence of Fred lingered in the room, in George’s haunted expression and the absence of a single clock hand on the Weasley’s clock.

She spent most of her time with Ron and Harry and if she tried to ignore the pounding of her heart which hinted  _ danger, danger, danger _ as they wandered through Diagon Alley, she could almost pretend it was just like old times and nothing had changed. 

Hermione noticed Harry gripping his wand in his pocket as he too scanned their surroundings. He’d grown quieter, preferring to speak only a few dry sentences or to Ginny who was away having a mock match with a friend who was playing with the Harpies. 

The next morning found her rushing outside into the cold air as she gasped for breaths, her hands on her knees. She had dreamt of her parents and woke up happy, forgetting they had forgotten her due to her spell. Then reality had crashed in and she had felt suffocated. 

Aware of a presence behind her, she reacted without thought and pushed the intruder against the wall, a firm jab of her wand into the person’s throat and her elbow placed against his chest. 

Emerald green eyes gazed back at her. She blinked slowly. It was barely light outside but there was no mistaking that it was Harry. Who else could it be, she chastised herself. 

“I - I thought you were someone else,” she finally said. Around them, the sounds of dawn played a symphony: birds singing and calling to each other, chickens and hens clucking and crowing from their nests while a soft rain - so slight it was barely there - painted the grounds with its drops. The sun wasn’t there yet but she could see the faint glimmer that indicated it was almost time for it to rise. 

Harry nodded slowly, still looking at her. “I’d have the same reaction.”

Hermione closed her eyes, pulling her wand back. “I am sorry, I just..thought you were a snatcher. Even though a snatcher would not be here now, would he.” She laughed once though there was nothing funny about the situation. “I just reacted.”

“You do not have to explain. I understand.”

At that, the dream came crashing back to her and she let out a small gasp again. With Harry’s sudden appearance, she had nearly forgotten. This would be the second Christmas her parents were spending unaware they had a daughter. “Does it ever go away?” she asked, still gasping lightly. She felt tears burn her eyes and roll down her cheeks. “Does missing your parents ever go away?” 

Harry put his arms around her and pulled her towards him, startling her. For a moment, she was rigid before relaxing into his embrace and closing her eyes. She did not know how long they stood there, holding each other. Long enough that she could hear the other occupants from the Burrow rousing from their sleep. 

“It never goes away,” he said quietly in her ear. “It...they leave not once but many times. They leave the first time when their presence is gone and then they leave all over again each time you remember them. When you want to tell them about a book or see their favourite food or just imagine them in your life as you go on -” he broke off, choking. He shuddered, holding her tightly. 

They did not seem to be talking of just parents anymore. Hermione thought of Colin, Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Lavender, Hedwig, Dobby, Dumbledore…”Like death by a thousand cuts,” she said unthinkingly. Gently, she parted herself from Harry’s arms. He was pale, deep shadows ringing his eyes, a defeated expression on his face as he thought of terrors she could only imagine. 

She squeezed his hand once and he nodded. “Were you awake?” she asked curiously as they made their way inside, hearing the chaos of the platters of dishes and Mrs Weasley’s screaming. 

“I am always awake,” he said darkly. “I was sitting by the doorstep. You rushed by looking like a ghost and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

She frowned. “You should take some Dreamless Sleep,” she whispered as they settled onto the table for breakfast. 

“It is the lack of dreams that terrifies me more,” said Harry so lowly that even she had to strain to hear him. 

Soon, Hermione returned to Hogwarts and spent her time continuing the support group efforts. Many openly cried while others raged for catharsis. That led to the revival of some semblance of the DA as McGonagall and Hermione set up dummies, punching bags and several other targets so students could rid themselves of their aggression and anger in a safe space and in safe supervised ways. Hermione got several ideas then and rushed to the library, the gesture was so familiar that she found herself smiling as she pulled stacks of textbooks with her. She researched more outlets and found herself integrating several support group meetings with magical beings and plants. As the students stroked, caressed or softly spoke to the innocent creatures and nursed their plants, the professors around her seemed to let out a breath of relief. They could heal. 

By spring, many waves of laughter could be heard echoing through the halls as students loitered around the castle in groups instead of sitting in their dormitories. The Great Hall was again a hustle bustle area for conversations, activities and speeches. By the end of the term, several graduating students shed tears as they parted with the castle for the last time and Hermione felt a tiny spark of hope. Hogwarts could still be home. 

* * *

A few months after her graduation from Hogwarts, Hermione was moving in with Ron. It had been five months since she started her job and they both felt it was time. They had found a quaint little house not too far from the Burrow and between both their incomes, they could afford it. 

Mrs Weasley openly sobbed as she bade farewell to them even though they were moving nearby. Fussing over Ron as she packed them several containers of food sufficient enough to feed an entire clan of wolves, Mrs Weasley sniffled as she touched her cheek. It was not until she glanced at the clock that Hermione realised: a loss of another son for her. 

Harry and Ginny had offered to help them but the day of, found Hermione magicking the unpacking process while the boys and Ginny goofed off outside. 

For the next few months, the trio fell into a routine. Ron and Harry were called away frequently for their training and initiations while Hermione spent her days at the Ministry researching and preparing cases. At night, she would cast every spell and ward she knew over the house before hurrying into the room and doing the same. She was alone most of the time as Ron only returned every two weeks for two days. 

Hermione wanted to bring up the topic of having Ginny sleepover sometimes but she always found herself hesitating. Ginny was also frequently busy, she had an internship at  _ Witch Weekly  _ and was often playing street quidditch on the weekends. She still lived at the Burrow too as Mrs Weasley could not bear to part with her baby. Hermione supposed she could ask Harry, but she did not know whether it would fit into his schedule. So she let it go, and every night as she lay awake in her bed, she cursed her decision. She had to take Calming Draughts almost daily to sleep even half the night. 

Soon, it was May again and she was in the middle of reading the manual for a muggle security system when she heard Ron clamber into the room. He hugged her fiercely before appraising the device she was fiddling with. 

“What are you doing with a muggle invention?” 

“It’s for security reasons,” she offered, affixing it to the wall. “For nights when you’re not here.” 

“It’s just going to blare a siren and ring,” he said, sniggering. “Besides, what do you need all these for when you’ve got me? I am an Auror who can most assuredly protect you.”

Hermione glared at him, rage simmering in her veins. He would protect her when he wasn’t even here? When she spent countless hours alone with only her shaky breaths and dark mind to listen to as she re-warded the house daily? “Thank you, Ronald,” she spat so viciously, Ron paled. “But I can take care of myself. I have in the past, I do so now and I will in the future.” With that, she strode out of the house, fuming. Wandering into a muggle park, she breathed in deeply before deciding to trek one of her favourite trails. Sundays were devoted to a trek in the park with her parents, followed by a picnic. Her parents remembered none of it and she only had herself to blame. 

Her thoughts returned to Ron. How dare he, she walked fast, twigs snapping beneath her feet. How dare he imply that she needed  _ him  _ for protection? She’d been keeping them alive since their first year! She alone managed their entire year on the run and to have him throw it back to her face was an insult to her competency. It was maddening. 

A hand grabbed her elbow, she twisted out of the grip before kicking out her leg to sweep her opponent down. It wasn’t until she had drawn a wand over his heart that she became aware of the figure talking to her. 

“Hermione, it’s ME!” Emerald green eyes glared up at her. 

She sheepishly tucked her wand into her pocket before helping him up. “You know better than to sneak up on me,” she said accusingly. “I thought you were about to kill me.” 

“I called out your name several times as you stomped past me in fury,” he retorted but he paused, taking a quick sweep of the park. Seeming satisfied that they were not about to be attacked, he crossed his arms over his chest.”Ron pissed you off again?”

Hermione ignored him, staring at his arms and chest visible through his light jacket. Had he always been this filled out? His build was still slight with a seeker fit but there was no denying the definition of the lean muscles and the trim hips. Shaking her head, she smiled at him. “How did I manage to sweep an Auror off of his feet?”

Harry rolled his eyes, pulling her along the trail. “The Auror was not expecting to be attacked by my own best friend.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he looked stricken. Neither of them spoke aloud but the sudden ghost of the marauders lingered between them. Hermione fitted her hand into Harry’s and he squeezed it, showing his appreciation. 

“Everything is changing,” he said softly as they trekked further. The trees around them reminded Hermione of their year on the run, she resisted the urge to cast spells and wards around them for protection. It was okay to be in public now, they were not wanted. 

“Everything already did,” she sighed, thinking of the way she had lashed out. Ron coped by using humour to diffuse the tension and she had taken his words too literally. 

Harry pulled her towards the left as they reached a forked parting. “I feel that my life,” he began hesitantly, “has consisted of so many changes that I do not want any more. I am tired of being thrown in circumstances and being expected to adapt and - and just not only live with them but be okay with them. I want stability. I want constants.”

“I am tired,” Harry added so softly she could not hear him. “I am tired of people leaving.” Colin, Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Lavender, Hedwig, Dobby, Dumbledore…

A nightingale began her song, the sound was distant but still clear. It echoed around them as Hermione glanced at Harry. He looked worried - a sheen in his eyes. He didn’t look as exhausted as he once did but there was still some fatigue that seemed to have settled on his shoulders. 

“Harry, you deserve stability,” she reminded him. “Do not make yourself feel guilty for wanting either of those things and people will stay - if they have a choice, they will choose to stay.”

“What if I get stability but at the cost of something?”

Hermione stopped in her tracks, forcing him to pause too. “Harry, not everything has a cost. I am sorry,” she wavered as his gaze pierced her, “that you feel you need to give up something to receive something  _ good _ but you don’t. You always were led to believe that you have to. But. You. Don’t.”

They continued their path uphill, both lost in their thoughts. “Do you,” she said abruptly. “Do you ever feel like everyone is letting go and moving on and you’re still stuck in the same place?”

“Yes. I don’t even want to be stuck but I am rooted there.”

“Planted like a tree,” she said, nodding. “It makes me feel weak.”

His eyes snapped to hers and this time, he stopped them. “Hermione, you are not weak. These things...they don’t have an expiration date. There is not - no,” he was struggling with his words as he stared intently at her. “There is no deadline. You go at your own pace,” he said finally, grabbing her hand. 

“I know, I just….” she sighed. “I just feel like I should.”

He nodded slowly before abruptly pulling her into a hug. They stayed like that until the nightingale finished her song, the silence sounding empty without its soaring notes. “If everything changes, at least this won’t.”

Hermione did not know what specifically he was referring to but she did not ask. 

* * *

The next moment found Hermione seated at a dinner reunited with Ron, Harry and Ginny properly after ages. It had been three years since the war, Ron and Harry were busier than ever with several operations and missions while Ginny had been promoted at  _ Witch Weekly. _

Hermione had thrown herself into her work at the Ministry, furiously trying to develop ways to upend the discriminatory and violative laws set by the pure-bloods who governed before. She had successfully managed the house-elves protection bill but there were so many other things that needed changing and fixing that she devoted herself fully to her job. It worked out well too, Ron was frequently away. She also spent a lot of time visiting Hogwarts too; her support groups still continued and she returned whenever she had a chance. Many of the students had kept in touch by writing letters regularly. 

It was not until they were downing their third glass of Firewhiskey that Ginny exclaimed, “I have an announcement to make!”

Ron was looking between Harry and Ginny; his brows furrowed. “Well, don’t leave us hanging. What is it?” 

Ginny’s complexion was almost as red as her hair, an immediate effect of the alcohol they were consuming. Hermione spared a glance at Harry and noticed that he seemed just as interested to hear the announcement as the rest of them. It was nothing about their relationship, then. She could not explain why she felt a moment of relief. “I have been recruited by the Harpies,” Ginny was casting her gaze between all three of them before resting them on Harry. “I didn’t want to tell anyone until I was sure. I leave for Ireland soon.” 

There was a stunned silence before Ron let out a roar of pride. Hermione smiled weakly at Ginny but she was looking at Harry. He seemed frozen, his fork in mid-air. She aimed a kick at his foot and he came to. Smiling, he shrugged. “You’re the best Chaser Gryffindor ever saw. Of course, they want you.”

Grinning, Ginny threw her arms around him before letting out a whoop. As Ron rushed around corking open more bottles, and Ginny excitedly informed them of her future plans, Harry caught Hermione’s eye and in his, she saw the understanding she was hoping she would not find: a grim acceptance that Ginny was leaving.

When Ron offered to do the dishes and Ginny volunteered, she knew they wanted to be alone. Perhaps, they thought of their dead brother. 

Hermione left them bickering and sopping wet with dish foam as she made her way to her office. It was her own private nook in the house and a place that brought her immense comfort. With wall to floor bookshelves, a soft rug and the few framed photos she had of her parents and friends, she felt at peace. 

She was not surprised to find Harry standing in front of the bookshelf, looking at the titles with a blank expression on his face.

“That’s quite a fascinating one.” Harry startled before realising it was just her. At his puzzled expression, she nodded at the book. “A complete history of the establishment of Gringotts and the goblin’s eventual takeover.”

Harry grinned sheepishly, stepping away and dropping into the sofa with an afghan thrown over it. Hermione seated herself next to him. “Are you okay with Ginny’s news?”

“No,” he admitted after a long silence. “I know it makes me sound like a jerk, I feel like a jerk but it’s just come on too soon. We’ve barely lived together and she wants to move out to another country.”

“It wouldn’t change things between you two. You can go up to see her, she can visit over weekends,” she said, injecting optimism in her voice. 

“I know. I just…,” he trailed off. He appeared lost in thought, she reached over to the coffee table and plucked up the book she had been reading. Hermione got past three chapters on the latest progression of magical and non-magical innovations for the mind before Harry exhaled deeply. “Ever since the war,” he said lowly as she marked her place and set the book aside. “I just feel this crippling sense of dread. I keep fearing returns of dark wizards, of snatchers, of...threats that will take everything away from me. It makes me want to cherish the time I have now because I know it is limited.” 

She placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Seeming assured, he went on. “I want to just...live a quiet life. I do not care about being an Auror anymore. I will quit soon. I have eliminated all threats and I don’t want to stick around to obliviate muggles.”

Hermione flinched and he instantly noticed. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her tightly. “I am so sorry, Hermione.”

“It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean anything by it. Ginny is not leaving you, Harry,” she said carefully. “She is leaving temporarily for her job but she is not choosing to leave you.” 

He shut his eyes. “I just feel tired. I don’t want change. After a lifetime of changes that upended my life, I don’t want them anymore. I don’t want surprises. I want stability.”

“It will work out,” she said. “If anyone can, it would be you. Sooner than later, you can decide on further steps. Maybe you can move there.” She felt her heart pang as she said the sentence. Her best friend, away in a different country? 

“I don’t know how I’ll handle learning to live in another country,” he said softly. “Why can’t things calm down for me?”

“Har-” She broke off as the door swung open and Ron stood there, looking relieved. “Oi, they’re in here!” he yelled into the corridor before turning into the room, looking between the two of them. “We were wondering where you two got off to. Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” said Harry before she could respond, letting go of her and standing up. “Quidditch celebratory match?”

“Dibs on Ginny!” Ron said immediately. “You’re stuck with our resident bookworm then.”

Harry smiled. “Guess I am,” he said so softly only Hermione could hear him. 

* * *

Hermione smiled slightly to herself as she reread Harry’s letter. He reported various amusing instances of his return to Hogwarts. The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was on maternity leave so Harry was acting as a substitute. While his letter seemed happy, she could detect the undertones of sadness and grim acceptance that Hogwarts had changed which she herself had not expressed to him all those years ago. 

As she was entering the classroom, she bumped into Harry just as he was about to exit. For a second, he stared at her before his face broke out in a smile. 

“I thought you were too busy to come,” he said finally, appraising her standard work outfit: jacket, blouse, pencil skirt, stockings and small kitten heels. Hermione had accepted her muggle heritage and wore the clothes with pride. She still had to don the robes over them during proceedings at the Wizengamot but it was still a small glimpse of normalcy for her. 

“I found an unexpected opening after a client cancelled,” she explained, following after him as he strode down the hall. She smiled at the students who paused in their walks to classes with their mouths open. As they passed, she heard the fervent whispers,  _ It’s her! It’s Hermione Granger!  _

Hermione still saw the battle of Hogwarts in her mind as she crossed a wing, trailing after Harry. She did not think she could ever forget it, her heart sped up, convinced that when they turn a corner, they will come across a fight between Death Eaters. 

Harry ushered her into the office of the witch he was subbing for. “Tea?” He inquired as he settled down an armchair, Hermione seating herself opposite him. 

“I had a late lunch.” She fingered the bracelet clasp on her wrist before looking up at him. He looked better; she noted. He looked rested for the first time in ages. “Did Ginny come to visit you yet?” 

She regretted her words when she saw the dejected expression on his face. “No...I, well, we had a fight.”

“We can talk about it if you want,” she said neutrally. 

“The more time passes, she has been expressing things,” he said listlessly. “Things that she wants and which I cannot give.”

“What kind of things?”

Harry laughed once but the sound had an edge to it. He ran his fingers through his hair before he began pacing. “She wants me to ask for her hand. She...she talks about starting a family!” 

Hermione nodded. “You do not want that?” 

“I do,” he rushed out. “I do, it’s just. Hermione, I only had my uncle to look up to as a husband and he wasn’t the greatest man. I only had  _ him  _ as an example of a father and I do not fancy myself becoming the same man he was.” 

“Harry, come off it-” she began before he cut her off. 

“Hermione,” he said. The way he said her name made her pause, he sounded so forlorn, so lonely, so troubled as he gazed at her with weary eyes. “I always struggled trying to find a purpose in life. For years, I was tormented at the Dursleys, I grew up on scraps of nothing.” Harry was speaking faster now, as if he had thought of these things often but never voiced them. “Then I found a home where I learned I am someone. I learned about the prophecy and for years, I was raised by Dumbledore who knew I needed to die to defeat Riddle but not whether I would survive. He raised me for that anyway. After I defeated Riddle, I began to struggle. I never got the chance to explore who I was as a child. I never got to live out my youth years as a carefree young boy because I had,” he laughed bitterly again. “The weight of the world on my shoulders. And now that I have this time to figure out myself, I find myself unworthy and undeserving of anything without feeling like I need to offer something and I - I have nothing to offer.”

Hermione sat still, speechless. Harry went on. “How can I tie myself to someone not knowing what horrors are still inside me that I haven’t dealt with? The deaths that still haunt me to this day....the events that still haunt me. How can I bring a child into a world when I don’t even know-” he broke off choking, his eyes tearing up. 

She pulled him into a hug. Harry put her hands on her waist as he cried into her shoulder. “My life was never normal. How can I bring a child into this world where she can be haunted by the same scars and pain that were inflicted upon me? Where it will probably be me who will give her the scars and pain because I,” he breathed deeply. “I am not okay. I haven’t been since the war and I doubt I will be anytime soon. I quit being an Auror. I have started several jobs and left them because I am so unsatisfied with everything. I do not know who I am beside the fact that I defeated a dark wizard.”

“She accused me of keeping things from her. And I did, I kept things but I kept them for the sake of preventing her from the pain and sufferings I go through daily. From the burden of my existence. She thinks I am still holding on to the war. In a way, I am. I am not over it but she thought enough time has passed for me to try start moving on with my life. But what do I move on to? I have nothing but nightmares and desperation!” 

It was aching her to hear Harry confess his deepest thoughts. She held him softer as she tried her best to listen and console him. She knew Harry was still haunted by the events of the war just like she was. While both of them talked about it whenever they could, it was never at length. 

“Harry, emotions don’t have a timeline,” she reminded him. He laughed at her, his tears soaking into her jacket. “I just can’t,” he said softly. “Ginny was angry, it was the angriest I’d ever seen her. She said I wanted stability but was denying this. When...God, how would this be stability? Binding people to my unstable life? I never thought of marriage as stability. Children won’t bring stability. I just need someone there with me. That is all. Just their presence.” 

“She’ll come around. She’ll understand.”

“Hermione, she’s gone.” She could hear the pain even in the whisper. “I do not resent her for leaving. We coped in different ways. She is still terrorised by several aspects of the war too but she is gone.”

“Harry…I am so sorry. I understand everything you talked about. I cannot sympathise but I empathise. Each day, I feel I am dragged further into the war,” she confessed. “I am so paranoid all the time and I drive Ron crazy with all my antics but Harry, even he doesn’t understand them fully. There are some things which I have to go it alone because they are so intimate to me and indicative of a deep-seated imprint of the war on me. I cannot talk of Malfoy Manor without becoming lost in the flashbacks. I cannot look at Dennis Creevy without seeing the ghost of Colin hanging over him. I cannot think of my parents without feeling like I can’t breathe. I cannot imagine moving on before grieving properly. You’re doing the same but you have the added burden of grieving your lost years.”

“Grief does not have an expiration period,” he muttered in her ear. 

She nodded frantically. “We are not okay now but we will be.”

“We make quite the pair, don't we?”

“We should start a support group outside of Hogwarts,” she mused. 

Harry sniffed once before he laughed. “I think I just inhaled some of your hair,” he said, tugging at a few strands. He pulled away, slightly smiling but the pain was still etched on his face. 

Hermione smiled sadly. “It will be okay. I’ll help you, I’ll help you figure out who you are.” 

“I should have said, “happy birthday” to you.”

“Why?” she asked, puzzled. 

“Because I just gave you an interesting project. Fix a fixer-upper,” he teased lightly. 

Hermione smacked his arm. “You’re not a project, you’re my best friend,” she said before throwing her arms around him again. 

“Your hair is trying to strangle me now,” he laughed but held on, slightly swaying. “I think Ginny and I had seen it coming. I am not hurting over her as much but, I am hurting over the things that every person will require of me and I won’t be able to give it to them.”

“Not every person will be like that.”

Harry snorted. “I’ll have to keep an eye out for that person then.”

* * *

A few weeks later, Hermione was rushing home after a successful day of lobbying at the Wizengamot. She absent-mindedly entered the foyer before freezing. Her wards were not active. Almost instantly, she knew someone was inside her kitchen. Someone she did not know: Ron was away on a mission. Harry was at Hogwarts. Ginny was playing an away match in America. 

Hermione’s heart began to pound, her throat dry. In her mind, she heard the yells of Bellatrix as she tortured her and her pathetic screams. Quietly extracting her wand from her bag, she made her way toward the kitchen which was dark. 

She’d just entered the darkroom when she caught the silhouette of the figure before it moved. Without thinking, she shot a spell that slashed several cuts across the body. 

“BLIMEY, HERMIONE,” roared Ron as he fell to his knees, spluttering blood. The lights flickered on and Hermione watched in horror at the scene before her: Ron was bleeding, a cake in a box was splattered on the floor.

She rushed to the guest bathroom, grabbing the bottle of dittany before hurrying back. Summoning a towel, she pressed it against his wounds. The box had protected him from most of the impact but it was still quite a lot of blood. She didn’t realise her hands were shaking until Ron winced. 

“Why did you do this?!” she yelled, abruptly kicking the box. It let out a squelch as it flew across the floor and smacked into the corner. “Why would you do this?!”

“You were not supposed to come home until 7! I was not waiting in the dark to set you off like this purposely,” he scowled at her, quickly healing his wounds with his wand. 

“But you did. Why were the wards removed?” Her voice was cold despite the trembling in her body. She had thought she was going to be  _ tortured _ , convinced that they had found her. 

Ron threw his hands up in the air. “I had just stepped in with my belongings and the cake. Your wards make it impossible to manage to get through them soundly and then redraw them again. I was placing the box on the counter and was about to redo them before you showed up ready to murder me.” 

She scowled. “What are you even doing here?”

“It’s our anniversary.” Ron nodded at her surprised expression before pressing his lips together. “Should have known you’d forget. You always do.” 

“Ron, I am sorry for injuring you,” she said. “But you should have drawn the wards up right away! It was so, so careless of you! What if it had been someone else who’d stepped in beside me? What if they actually wanted to murder you? What if they got us?” She ranted as she waved her wands, beginning the complex process of warding the house. 

“Who’s this “they”, Hermione?” he said softly. 

“What?” She froze, having drawn up the wards and turning to face him. 

“Who is this “they” you are so bloody afraid of?” he asked again, sealing the remaining cut on his wrist. He calmly dropped the soiled towel in the bin before flicking his wand at the mess of the cake which instantly cleared up. 

“Oh come on, Ron. You cannot possibly be so ignorant while working as an Auror! We have threats!” 

Ron was shaking his head. “Do you even hear yourself?” his voice was clipped and just beginning to reflect the rage he was trying to control. “What threats?”

“For our role in the war!” Her hair seemed to crackle with electricity as she felt the pent-up emotions inside her find an outlet. “For everything we’ve done!” 

“For Merlin’s sake, Hermione! The war is over! It’s been over for  _ four years now! _ ” He hollered, she flinched. “Everyone who was on the other side has been found! They have been found and locked up for life! Now if you think the Ministry is lagging in its protective enhancements over the cells, that’s another story but  _ everyone has been locked up!  _ There is no one out to get you!

She shook her head, he was right. Everyone who had a role in the war was caught but surely, they could have missed someone? There was a reason she still felt like this. “Ron,” she whispered, “Ron, I am so sorry.” 

He held up a hand to stop her. “No, don’t. None of this is normal! The bloody wards, the fucking spells. We have a muggle security system! You scan every room as if it’s hiding Voldemort himself. You can barely be in public without having a meltdown! You look around for threats, convincing yourself that someone is out to get you!” He paused before continuing, his tone softer and soothing. “I get it, I do. I experienced the same, I lost Fred. I was not okay for a while but I got over it, I moved on. You didn’t even lose somone-

“How dare you?! I lost my parents! The war took them away from me!”

“Hermione, they’re not even dead. At least you can still see them, smiling and happy,” he said bitterly.

“And have them not recognise me ever,” she nodded, trying to see through the anger Ron was drawing out of her. 

“Hermione, you cast the spell,” he said softly. “No one forced you to.”

She was shaking. Did he think she was not aware that no one had forced her to? That she had made the decision on her own and carried it out and was now grieving the consequences of it? Did he think her so daft that she would not have realised her own fault? “How- how could you say that? Are you so unempathetic with such little concern for people’s emotions other than your own?” 

Ron hesitated before stepping towards her, she backed away until she was resting against the counter. He dropped his hands, appearing resigned. “This has gone on for too long. It's become excessive. It's not normal. You are enabling yourself to continue being like this. Your fear and paranoia are driving us to the ground, Hermione.”

She didn’t even realise she was crying until she screamed, tears streaming down her face. “Well, maybe if you weren’t away so much!” 

“Don’t bloody make this about me! This is about you and your issues of clinging onto something that is no longer there.” He shook his head. “Does it make you feel special? I can tell you, it’s nothing but! Do you even know why I spend so much time away? It is definitely not required, I signed up for it!” 

“What?” she choked. “How could you do that knowing that I needed you?!” Dishes exploded, nicking their arms and legs as she stared down at Ron who looked annoyingly unfazed. 

“That is the thing, you don’t need me. You just need your mind to convince you of threats that are not real and everything else becomes secondary!. Whenever I have been home, you have spent entire hours warding the house to make sure  _ we are safe,”  _ he mimicked the way she spoke. “You have gone at length to persuade yourself that we are hiding and still fighting in a bloody war. You don’t need me when you’re living in your head where we are still fighting a war and everyone is out to get you!” 

Hermione’s ears rang. “Tha-

“I go away because I cannot deal with this anymore,” he nodded firmly as she instinctively gasped. “I cannot handle this anymore. You are going around pretending like the war is still happening and it’s not. You’re acting even more paranoid now than the actual war itself! I’ve tried to help but it’s clear you want to continue living like this.”

“Help by going away so frequently, yeah?” she said coldly. Her veins felt as if they were streaming ice instead of blood. 

Ron ignored her. “What’s going to happen the next time someone is trying to do something nice for you and you attack them? Would you use the  _ Avada _ on an innocent person, convinced they’re out to harm-”

“SHUT UP! Shut up!” she roared as she heard sounds of their furniture breaking around the house. “Just stop it! Leave. Get out of my sight!”

Ron stared at her before giving a bark of laughter. “I am tired of this. I do not want to stick around waiting for you to kill me when you are convinced that I am out to get you.”

“I do not need convincing of that,” she said coldly, feeling a numbing sense of satisfaction as she watched him splutter before turning red. He stalked out and she fell to the floor, a few pieces of the broken dishes around her breaking the skin around her knees. She heard him rustling in their room before she heard the front door open and slam shut. 

_ Bang! _

_ Bang _ ! it echoed in her mind, mocking her. 

* * *

Several days later, Ron still hadn’t returned. She didn’t want him to. Sweeping the last of her belongings into a cardboard box, Hermione sighed as she looked at the bedroom she had shared with Ron for the past three years. 

Feeling a lump in her throat, she went to her office which was now sparse. A single parchment lay on her desk with a quill next to it. It was ready to be signed and sent off to the recipient but Hermione hesitated as she picked the quill up. A blot the size of a tear fell onto it - looking right at home with the other bolts and tear stains. She had written it shortly after Ron had left hence the emotions were quite vivid and candid. She read over the words again, she could recite the entire contents without even having to look at it now. 

_ Dear Ronald, _

_ This night served as a wake-up call to me. Not just me personally but my relationship with you. I have spent the past few hours since you’ve been gone, pacing the entire house as I both anticipate and dread your return. I am not going to pretend that we both didn’t say things that were truthful and regretful because we did. I am also not going to pretend that the things you said, specifically about my parents, did not hurt me.  _

_ They hurt me deeply. They hurt me so much that even now I cannot stop the tears. I will not attempt to explain the severe toll that my misguided endeavour to save them has caused me. I will not attempt to convince you of the consequences that haunt me for casting that spell. I will not try to tell you why that choice pains me to this day and why I cannot let it go. Being with me for the last few years should have been sufficient for you to not require such explanations from me but sadly, I do not express and you do not understand.  _

_ You are right that I still think we are at war. After a year of living on the run, the effects imprinted themselves on my mind. I cannot handle the thought that I can walk in the open with no one out to get me when just four years ago, I was Undesirable No.2 with a warrant out for my arrest. I cannot pretend that being required to register myself as a muggle-born left such a bad impression on me that I still think I am under threat. I cannot even begin to tell you the number of times I have walked in public and a sudden noise or person has startled me so much that I have drawn my wand upon them. How do I not think we are not still at war when my mind and body both do not let me forget?  _

_ I am stunned from several of the accusations you have made especially regarding why I feel the way I feel. I am cognizant of the fact that I have not been an easy person to live with but I will make my accusation now: You, Ronald Weasley, are a coward. You left me in the tent several years ago as soon as things got difficult and you have left me now. Your constant emphasis on the statement that you have moved on yet your simultaneous actions of crying in the bathroom with the shower running (Yes, I noticed that) has made me believe that you are a hypocrite. I gladly let you express your feelings the way you want yet you badgered me about mine every chance.  _

_ You shut down and ignore your feelings and pretend everything is fine and also hold it against me when I cannot do the same. You are scared of your own baggage that you carry from the war which is why you do not want to express mine as they serve as a reminder that those things still happened. You want us to fit into a perfectly happy-ever after puzzle piece and I desperately wanted that too, once long ago. But I feel I no longer fit that piece. I am not okay. I am not happy. I am not content. I am still grieving, mourning and trying to breathe. I cannot pretend otherwise. _

_ I am leaving. I do not want to try to fix things between us. There are certain things that I cannot forgive or forget. I have packed my things and have already secured another location I want to live in.  _

_ My keys are at the counter and I have also left behind my half of the bills and other payments that were required. I would appreciate it if you would respect my decision and try not to convince me to change my mind. I will not.  _

_ Perhaps, one day, when the time comes we will be friends again. _

Wiping away her tears, Hermione hastily wrote her name before sending it off. Looking around the room once more, she headed downstairs. Opening her beaded bag, she transfigured the cardboard boxes until they were cubes and added them in. 

_ Bang!  _ She heard her mind echo from the night Ron left. 

Hermione closed her eyes and Apparated directly into her new home. It was a flat in Muggle London, she did not know why but she instantly felt safe as soon as she had visited the place with the estate agent. It was not big but it was her new home. 

She spent the next several hours unpacking without magic. When she was finished, she felt so weary that she retired to bed early. She plugged in the white noise machine she had recently purchased and felt soothed. The flats had cameras, security alarms, and security guards at the reception. Not that they would stand a chance against magic but well, they provided the illusion of safety she desperately craved. Her wards were also in place, protecting her. 

The next several days were spent stocking up her kitchen, meal preparation and reorganizing her bookshelves by theme and title. She had taken a few days off work, her first vacation in ages. Picking up the heavy package regarding her work on werewolves rights, she went over her notes again. 

Hermione realised she’d dozed off only when she jerked awake, instantly scanning her surroundings. For a second, she did not recognise it and nearly became engulfed in panic before realising she had moved out into a new flat. What had woken her up? Aware of the pounding on her door, Hermione picked up her wand, her heart speeding. 

If it was someone with the intent of harm they would not have made it as far as the door, she reminded herself. She checked through the peephole and saw nothing.

Sighing and bracing herself in a defensive position, she slowly inched the door open. 

It was Harry.

“Hello,” he said softly. “Can I come in?” 

* * *

The next few months were spent in a blur. Harry and Hermione had a talk on her kitchen floor that night when he came over, a bottle of wine migrating between the two of them. 

“We just grew apart,” said Hermione seriously before bursting into tears. Harry had nodded before squeezing her hand. 

He had stayed the night. Then the next. Then the next. Until Hermione pointedly asked whether he’d moved in and he sheepishly admitted that he’d been staying at a hotel instead of 12 Grimmauld Place because he couldn’t handle living with the memories of all that he lost there. 

Sometimes, Harry got so quiet that he’d barely speak a word to her. Sometimes, Hermione would get so paranoid that she would be sitting locked up on her bathroom floor after hearing a car backfire. Harry sat next to her and held her hand each time. 

Often, Harry woke up screaming from nightmares about death. It varied: his parents, Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, Hedwig, Dumbledore. His own. Sometimes he was convinced his scar was hurting him again and Hermione would patiently run various tests with her wand to calm him down. 

Sometimes, Hermione would remember something: her parents anniversary, her father’s birthday, her mother’s birthday or her own before she would succumb to heaving sobs that left her inconsolable. Harry would sit and listen to her babble. 

Picking up on the idea Hermione once had in his office, Harry started a support group where anyone was welcome. He was good at it, she thought as she observed him devote his entire attention and listen intently to whoever was speaking. She smiled as he caught her eye and grinned. 

They regularly and privately discussed their own fears and struggles. They also encouraged each other; Harry was the one who convinced her to meet with Ron for closure while she had been the one to insist he pursue the idea of the support group. 

Hermione did not remember how it happened but after one particularly terrible nightmare where Harry was unable to wake up nor Hermione was able to rouse him that when he finally woke up, they both were crying. Then they found solace in each other’s lips. It generated a spark of electricity in her that made her gasp.  She was so starved for affection and he must be too because he kissed again. Hermione’s hands wound up around his neck while he tangled his in her hair, angling her head to kiss her deeper. Hermione sighed against him and he seemed to like that, doing something with his tongue that made her do it again. 

He kissed away the tears on her face and she kissed his before they were lying in bed together. They did not speak of what occurred. It was the most peaceful sleep Hermione had in years without the help of a potion. 

The next day, Harry kissed her absentmindedly as if it was something they regularly did as she headed off to work. She was stuck in a gruelling case where she was trying to get the Ministry to pass a bill regarding the war; where the Ministry was responsible for providing medical assistance, social services support, income assistance to those who could not work due to disabling injuries, and various other welfare facets that the society was clearly lacking. It was going to be a long fight and she regretted that it was so long after the war that she could be in a position to demand it. 

As she entered home, she was engulfed with a delicious aroma in the air. “What’s cooking?” she inquired, popping into the kitchen to see Harry slowly dicing a carrot. "Also, Harry, you don't _have_ to cook all the time. I can do it just as well or we'll get take out."

As soon as he saw her, he left behind the meal preparation and hurried over to her. He caressed her face with his hand before lightly brushing his thumb against her lips. Hermione closed her eyes at his touch. 

“I do not want this to ever be gone,” he said quietly. “I feel stable.”

Hermione’s heart soared. “I feel safe.”

“You are my person,” he said, stepping closer and wrapping her in a hug. With that, she kissed him, running her hands over his arms and back while he gripped her waist and tugged her closer. They spent the next few days together. They traced and kissed the scars on their bodies, signs that they both had gone through the war together and survived. They cried, they laughed, they talked and they kissed a lot. 

They also spent a lot of time together sleeping. Curled against her front, Hermione would hold him and press kisses to his neck, shoulders, back, any part of him that she could reach while he’d kiss her fingers. With him in bed with her, Hermione felt  _ safe.  _ She felt the urge but could easily resist her compulsion to worry about wards. 

Harry’s support group began to gain traction and success. With the help of Hermione, he integrated the care of magical beings and plants into the meetings. Luna showed up one day, insisting she would teach art classes. Harry and Hermione had looked at each other bemused before agreeing. 

Using the success of the support groups at Hogwarts and the one run by Harry which had inspired several others, Hermione pressed for her case at the Wizengamot. After a flawless presentation to the largest turnout the court had ever seen, the bill was passed. Hermione had barely responded to the questions the reporters threw at her before she rushed to Harry who jumped over the bannister to fiercely hug her. They had kissed, the crowd cheering wildly and madly as they smiled at each other. 

It was a few weeks later and they were having a late breakfast that Hermione said, “I have an idea.”

“What is it?” 

“Well, you don’t  _ have  _ to do it. I was just thinking of our conversation regarding finding you a purpose and figuring out who you are and well, I thought of something.” She paused. “You don’t have to do it.”

Harry looked amused. “Why are you trying to reject the idea even before I can?”

She glared at him. “Okay but,” she took a deep breath. “I was thinking of how sad you looked whenever we had a summer break and you had to leave Hogwarts to go back to the Dursleys’. And I am sure a lot of children feel that way - especially the orphans from the war - when going back to the houses they don’t want to. Well,” she noticed his intrigued expression before continuing. “How about if you start a hostel of sorts? We can use 12 Grimmauld Place. We’ll have to transfigure it and renovate it, of course. But those without a home can stay there during the holidays. It would be a safe space.”

Harry’s fork clattered onto his plate. “Hermione, that’s brilliant!” His entire face seemed to light up. “I think we can do that. We’ll clear out space behind the house and put up a few Quidditch goalposts-”

“And we can have a library with all kinds of books-”

“We can give presents to the children who have no one-”

“Write letters when they are at school so that they have some owl posts”

“It would be home away from home,” he said, his eyes sparkling. He abandoned his meal and leaned across the table to kiss her deeply. 

* * *

A few years later, Hermione was seated at the head of the dining table as she observed the several twenty kids around her with amusement. Spanning ages between ten to seventeen, they were all polishing off cake, excitedly chattering with each other. It was the first week of break after the term had ended and they were still sharing hilarious stories from the school that year. 

Harry was seated, on the other end, highly involved in a discussion around the year’s Quidditch matches while she got pulled into a conversation with a few final year students regarding careers. 

It wasn’t until everyone had dispersed to their rooms that a shy eleven-year-old bespectacled boy named Allen approached them. It was his second time at the hostel and while everyone had tried to engage him in conversation and activities, the boy had been too shy to participate. He often preferred to be alone in his room, obsessively reading a series of comics that Hermione recognised as manga. 

Staring at his feet, Allen mumbled something in a very soft voice. 

“I am sorry, I couldn’t catch that, can you say it again?” said Hermione gently with a smile. Besides her, Harry had gone rigid with concern, Allen was quite small and frail for his age. When he had shown up on their doorstep with McGonagall behind him, it had been quite apparent that he had a very rough childhood with his guardian. She placed a hand on Harry’s knee to calm him down; they would deal with it. Allen had directly approached them and Hermione considered it optimistic that he felt confident enough to come to them. 

“C-could I use your library tomorrow?” 

Hermione beamed. “Of course you can! I’ll show you,” she promised him, nudging Harry beside her. “And how about Harry and you go flying tomorrow?”

A wide smile took over the boy’s face. “Thanks, mum and dad!” A look of horror crossed his face and he flushed a deep tomato red. 

Hermione fiercely hugged him before he died of shyness. “Your welcome, Allen.” He nodded stiffly then made to leave, pausing at the door once. “I like it here,” he said shyly, glancing at the two adults who were suddenly choking up. With another rare smile, he left. 

Hermione turned to Harry who had tears in his eyes. “He called me dad. Hermione, he thinks of us as his parents.”

“You do not need to reproduce children biologically to become their parents,” she said lightly. While she knew they had changed the lives of many children, she never realised the attachment and love that would grow between them all. 

“I didn’t realise that they would think of us as their parents,” he said softly, his eyes still shining. 

“Well, we are in a way aren’t we?” said Hermione, gesturing to the room around them. It was full of pictures of all the children who had lived with them. The pictures showed the last few years, each depicting the various activities, days and time they spent at home. Their drawers were packed with letters they received from their children who were still at school and the ones who had progressed onto careers. While the Wizengamot had also initiated several hostels as part of its social support services due to Hermione’s tireless efforts when they’d passed the welfare bill, Harry and Hermione’s home was still open to receive any child who needed a home. 

Harry was shaking his head. “I guess so.” 

While the consequences directly after the war did not affect them as frequently and severely, there were still days when Harry was quiet and had nightmares while Hermione would cry over her parents. Her paranoia had gotten better once she saw a medi-witch for it and had started taking several potions. 

But each night, Hermione still checked the wards while Harry would go around the various rooms, counting to make sure everyone was there and safe. Some things would not go away, she thought. Just like the scars on their bodies, there were scars in their minds. They may fade or they may stay there forever but they also would heal. Just like Hogwarts was rebuilt, they were slowly rebuilding themselves. Together. 

She hugged him then, brushing her lips against his. “I feel safe.”

“I feel happy.”

_Fin._  
  



End file.
